


Placeholder

by Niler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This isn't new. It also isn't complete. I wrote this last Spring (I think) during the first WWA tour break. There's a lot going on - more than may be apparent. I didn't continue it because i didn't think anyone reading it knew what was going on lol and since the story depended on being on top of the very specific plot points I just left it.</p>
<p>I haven't written anything new in a while :( I have started the next chapter of Party's Over but that is some deeply complex shit right there and i am way too busy to get down to the nitty gritty of that fic, so it'll be taken up when I have space and time to breathe.</p>
    </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> This isn't new. It also isn't complete. I wrote this last Spring (I think) during the first WWA tour break. There's a lot going on - more than may be apparent. I didn't continue it because i didn't think anyone reading it knew what was going on lol and since the story depended on being on top of the very specific plot points I just left it.
> 
> I haven't written anything new in a while :( I have started the next chapter of Party's Over but that is some deeply complex shit right there and i am way too busy to get down to the nitty gritty of that fic, so it'll be taken up when I have space and time to breathe.

 

**Placeholder**

 

 

 

Frowning, he closed his fingers around the small smooth object he'd just discovered at the bottom of his bag.

Oh, right, now he remembered; he'd found it in Peru – at Machu Picchu - shown it to Ben, to Liam. Liam had taken it, said something off the wall then handed it back. At the time he'd assumed he'd probably slipped it in his pocket or maybe casually dropped it to join the other pebbles lying there, but apparently not; apparently he hadn't dropped it at all, apparently he'd put it in his bag, the backpack he'd swear he hadn’t even had with him on the trip...

The stone was very smooth and as pretty as he remembered. Looking at it now, he wondered why he hadn't kept it. The reason he'd been drawn to it in the first place was because it was so eye-catching. Jet black, except when you held it in a certain light, you'd swear there were swirls of pristine white flecks embedded in the stone.

He wouldn’t have bothered showing it to Louis. Louis was one of those people who could only believe in what they saw around them, witnessed with their own eyes. He _tried_ not to be dismissive of Harry's fancies and musings, but he very often was, if only in spirit.

You could talk about this stuff with Niall all day long. Zayn... Well, Zayn was open, but didn't really like talking about that – not with him, anyway. Liam was very open, hadn't really given too much thought to the spiritual side of life, but was definitely open. No, he'd definitely show Liam the stone when he saw him later that month, back in London.

Head on one side, Harry examined the pebble, wondering where he should stash it for safe keeping. If he dropped it in his bag again god knows where it might end up, and since it had obviously got attached to him for some reason why not honour that and treat it with a little bit of reverence.

He didn't personally have a jewellery case to hand, but he certainly knew where to get his hands on one.

It was an ordinary little pebble he'd found on a mountaintop, but he somehow sensed that there was just a little more hiding behind its pretty façade. Whether it would ever yield its secrets he couldn’t say, but his intent was to keep it anyway.

 

**

Waking up was like tumbling back down to earth, and landing on the soft downy cushions characterised by the familiar scent of the man sleeping next to him.

Recalling the last words they'd exchanged brought a smile to his face, which soon expanded into a grin, as he felt the warmth of him at his back.

He really shouldn't wake him, but couldn't resist the lure of the slender arm held possessively across his chest. He loved that – they both did – holding his arm captive, long fingers under his, wondering at the pale perfection of his skin in contrast now to _his_ summer tan. What he loved most was when he wore the ring (which he did whenever they were together that way), seeing its circle of commitment on his finger – a symbol of more than their commitment to each other, ultimately a symbol of their determination to last the distance despite all the odds. Out there they couldn't be themselves, so he couldn't wear their ring, but here, here they were just two lovers who held each other's hearts as a circle of silver worn on a finger.

Reaching back, still smiling, he found his hand and pulled it to him, holding it flat against his belly. Automatically his skin sought the hard warm press of metal and suffered a moment of disorientation when he couldn’t find it. Had he taken it off at some point, got up, washed his hands? Frowning, he looked down, moved his hand so he could see Zayn's.

No ring. Bigger hand. Not Zayn.

That was all his head could process – no ring, bigger hand, not Zayn.

Took a little longer for his body to catch up.

Though startled, he instinctively knew not to panic, so he kept hold of the hand and slowly turned his head to see who was lying beside him in their bed.

But even as the thought went through his head his peripheral vision snapped to attention, corralling all his senses, forcing them to come on line.

This wasn't their bed; their room, their home.

And the man in what wasn't their bed, and wasn't their room and certainly wasn't their home not only wasn't Zayn, Liam didn’t have the first clue _who_ he was, and more importantly, what he was doing naked in bed with him.

Oh shit! What the fuck was that? was the only thing he could think to ask as the sheet covering him moved enough to expose his groin...

 

**

 

 

“Babe.”

“Hmm.”

“Babe.”

A poke in the back. “Wha-?”

“Fancy a cuppa.”

He made a sound that in his head translated as: “fuck off”, but couldn't have come across that way because he was poked again.

“I'll make it worth your while, babe.”

Harry's eyes snapped open. Zayn? What the fuck was Zayn...?

Turning, he stared at him.

He was tousled, sleepy, sexy – and in bed with him (probably naked).

“See? You are _so_ easy.” He leaned in for a kiss and Harry’s head snapped back. Zayn frowned. “What? You know I were only joking. Not about making it worth your while, mind, but I' d do that anyway, wouldn't I?” He was smiling again, going in for another kiss.

“Zayn, no! What are you doing? And what are you doing here, anyway?” Well that was pretty mild considering what he _wanted_ – needed – to ask. There were loads of questions that needed asking – and he'd be _ever_ so interested in hearing the answers to said questions.

“Fuck's up? How d'ya mean 'what are you doing here?' Er, I _live_ here? What’s got into you, man?” Zayn sometimes had what was commonly referred to as 'flashing eyes' and right now they were doing exactly that.

“What the hell's going on?” Looking around he saw that they were indeed in Zayn's bedroom – naked and in bed together. And he simply couldn't make any of that compute: he was in bed with Zayn. He was in bed with Zayn and Zayn was fine with it. He was in bed with Zayn and he knew for a fact that Zayn and Liam were as solid as the proverbial Rock of Gibraltar. He was in bed with Zayn and he knew that you could threaten to commit hari kiri if he didn't give you a go and he'd probably offer to perform the killing stroke rather than actually give you a go. In other words being in bed naked with Zayn was as likely as finding a politician with integrity.

And of course there was that, and yes, it was big, ever so relevant, but the thing that had him staring at his friend in horror was the fact that 6 hours earlier he'd gone to sleep in L.A, and now he was somehow here in London – in bed with Zayn.

“Zayn, something weird's going on-”

“Weird, like what?” While Zayn’s voice was expressing interest his gaze was a clue to his real focus.

It wasn't often Harry was made to feel like a succulent piece of tenderloin, but the way Zayn's gaze was roving over him from head to... well, groin... was making him feel like a steak in the process of being marinated and dressed for later devouring.

“Zayn, come on, man. What is wrong with this picture?”

“Nothing.” And Harry was certain he'd never heard that word expressed with greater conviction.

Any minute now and it was clear that he was going to be jumped.

He had to stop that from happening.

Jumping out of bed was a schoolboy error since it exposed him to Zayn's gaze and... oh.

“Someone's happy.” And Harry would swear he'd never heard him sound quite that smug before.

“Zayn, focus. Look at me. Look!” Spreading his arms wide he invited him to look, though what he was hoping to achieve he couldn’t have said. How would spreading his arms and exposing himself that way make any difference...to anything?

“Babe, I’m looking, believe me, but now I want to _touch_.” He held out his arms. “Come on. Back to bed.”

Invitation? Command? He wondered if Liam had learned to tell the difference by now. Speaking of whom...

One last attempt to reason with him. “What’s Liam gonna say when he finds out?”

Zayn looked puzzled only for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Babe, not now. Not in the mood, just want it. Come, give it me.”

Harry knew of course just how sensual he could be, but he'd never actually been faced with it this way before.

And why was Zayn ignoring everything he was saying? “I thought you loved him.” And maybe instinctively he 'd found the right thing to say to get him laser focused.

Although, maybe he could have done without the twitching tail, the pricked ears, the fur standing on end. Zayn wasn't a domestic cat, though - he was a sleek predator, dangerous when riled.

And he was riled. “Not funny. If you don't want to, just fucking say. What you doing? Isn't fucking funny, man.”

“What am I doing? Look, how the fuck did I end up here? This isn't where I was last night. How the _fuck_ did I end up in bed with you?”

By ducking, he managed to avoid the object thrown at him, quite surprising himself with the swiftness of his reflexes. He didn’t look to check the object, afraid that Zayn would catch him off-guard with more missiles, but prayed it hadn't been anything valuable. Zayn, after all, didn’t look like he'd been in any mood to check first, had simply chucked the first thing that came to hand. “Fuck you! You know where the fucking door is!” He lay back down – the most aggressive lying down Harry had ever witnessed – and pulled the sheets over him.

Harry watched him for a moment wondering what to say, but really, the best thing, the very best thing, would be to get the fuck out of there.

How he was going to explain why he needed to be on the first flight back to LA he had no idea, but clearly he'd have to come up with a good one.

He knew where the bathrooms were, of course (didn’t seem right to use the en-suite) and when he could find his clothes he'd have a quick shower and- He stopped in the process of examining the floor for evidence of his discarded clothes (he could see _Zayn's_ discarded clothes all over the room, so imagined that he'd find his own clothes in a similar state) when he saw his reflection in the floor length mirror.

Oh. Fuck...

**

So, he could wake up the guy, ask him who the hell he was, ask him to explain what the hell they were doing in bed together. Or he could get his clothes and beat a hasty retreat – avoid any awkwardness at all.

The latter definitely seemed preferable, except he'd never actually be satisfied if he left this room without at least attempting to get an explanation. Surely the guy must know how they'd got here and... Yeah, that's what he should do, wake him and ask a few – maybe more than a few - pertinent questions.

Turning his attention to the guy, he examined him properly for the first time.

He was dark, tanned and slim: toned and fit looking. Liam wasn't the best at judging age, but the guy was clearly no spring chicken, probably in his early to mid thirties, though, hmm, maybe one of those guys who look younger than their chronological age.

Would he have approached this guy in the normal course of things?

Well, that was the question, wasn't it? Just what exactly was the 'normal course of things'? The normal course of things would be him unattached and looking for...love. And he was neither of those things. He was very, very fucking far from unattached, and as for looking for love, why look for something you already possessed?

So, why the fuck was he in this stranger's bed then?

And why when he'd absolutely gone to sleep in Zayn's bed last night?

How the fuck could he go to bed in one place, with one guy, and end up somewhere else with a complete fucking stranger?

Could this guy actually _explain_ that, though?

Well, one thing was for sure – Liam would absolutely bloody well ensure he tried...

“Hey.” He kept his voice low, maybe a little tentative (it was a pretty bizarre situation, and he didn't know about anyone else, but being starkers in bed with a good-looking stranger didn't seem the best balm for shredded nerves he'd ever heard of).

The guy gave a little groan, didn't open his eyes, but did smile. “Hi, honey. You awake?”

He was American.

Liam didn't really know why that surprised him so much; he supposed his mind had just been geared for an _English_ accent.

And er _honey_? What?

“Yeah. What’s up?”

This got an even bigger smile and an arm stretched across the tiny distance separating them (the bed was big, but the guy seemed to mostly be on his side of it!). The hand, when it landed, was warm and the fingers curled, the better to deal a caress to his thigh.

Liam instinctively flinched away, but the guy didn't seem to notice, keeping his hand exactly where it was. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake yet. What time is it?” He opened his eyes then and Liam was surprised once again: his colouring had led him to expect brown eyes. They weren't brown, not even close – they were a startling pale blue.

“Er...” He looked at his wrist – no watch. Well, of course not – he didn’t wear his watch to bed, did he? He was at sixes and sevens with the utter bizarreness of the situation, and was, as a natural consequence, undoubtedly looking a right fool.

The guy turned, giving Liam an eyeful of his back – _all_ of his back – reaching across to the cabinet on his side of the bed.

Liam, uncomfortable, hot with embarrassment turned his eyes away.

What the fuck? A one night stand – _potentially_ – and yet he was treating him like they were- Oh.

Turning to him with new interest Liam examined him once more. Ah.

The guy was grinning. “Didn't I tire you out last night? You're not supposed to be able to move for at least another 12 hours.” He was reaching across to him and Liam had the distinct feeling that his touch would brand him in some way, and well, if Zayn ever saw another man’s brand on him...

He moved away as subtly as he could manage (didn't want to offend him, burn all his bridges when there was no need), and the guy's fingers trailed across his skin, but failed to land. “I'm fitter than I look.” Oh, what? What the hell was that?

This seemed to tickle the guy, which as it turned out was bad, since he now made a more concerted effort to get to grips with him and, for all his slim litheness seemed to be gifted with skills that wouldn't have been out-of-place in a wrestling ring.

Trapped under a hot, determined, amorous American, Liam found his ability to think coming under severe pressure.

His capacity to _worry_ , however, seemed to have been increased by a factor of 100.

What the _fuck_ was he going to tell Zayn?

**

Seeing Liam from this angle was very, very interesting.

He stared down at his arms, wondering how he hadn’t noticed the lack of tattoos before, or the entirely different configuration of this body. The thing was he didn’t _feel_ any different – still felt like him.

He looked like Liam, but felt exactly as he always did.

One thing, though, his body did sort of feel different: he'd noticed earlier when Zayn had been er being Zayn and his body had responded to that, which had bloody surprised him since he didn’t think about Zayn that way, well, not ordinarily, not quite in those circumstances. Yeah he found him attractive, but just wouldn’t – _ever_. It was his belief that anyone who took Zayn on might as well prepare himself to always play second fiddle to the guy he really wanted. In his opinion the only way anyone else would ever get a look in would be if Liam were to die – and even then you'd _still_ be competing with the guy! So he made the decision to simply shut that shit all the way down. If you had any sense at all that's what you'd do. Find him attractive all you wanted, it was just best to never make the mistake of thinking he'd ever reciprocate. He'd play with you, but that's _all_ it was – play.

At some point all the guys who'd _thought_ they'd had a chance had learned that to their cost.

He stared at himself, well, at Liam's body – amused, bemused, intrigued.

Liam was fit and athletic... He executed a series of deep squats just to see how it would feel – easy. Then stood on one leg with his palms pressed together, to test his balance – good. Liam had always been able to beat him when to came to press-ups...Again, easy.

This body was definitely different: his mind was still his, but his body in every sense was Liam's. Wow, wasn’t that absolutely-

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Startled, he guiltily moved his hands away much as if he'd been caught with them halfway down the mouth of the cookie jar.

Zayn, was leaning up on one elbow (still wrapped up in the bedsheets), staring at him.

“What’s it look like I'm doing?” he extemporised, wondering how the fuck this must look to him, and oh god what would he'd say when he knew it was him inside Liam's body. Guarantee that Zayn wouldn’t have even one ounce of sympathy for his plight. Actually, if he ever found out he'd probably never forgive-

“Thought you were going.”

Zayn could definitively sulk for England. With a little bit of extra training, possibly even for Europe.

“Do you want me to?”

Zayn's expression spoke of murder – slow and nasty – but Harry surmised that it owed more to the fact that the answer was obviously no and that Liam obviously knew it was no. “You were pretty bloody keen to leave a minute ago.”

“I was messing. Sorry it got your back up – didn't mean it to.” Is this how Liam would do it, or would he- Yeah he'd definitely be a bit more handsy. Harry had seen them tiffing often enough to be aware of the ways each guy got round the other. Liam tended to be quite direct – direct and persistent – _forcing_ Zayn out of his mood.

He'd turned fully toward him, meaning to maybe _try_ to be direct and persistent, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the focus of Zayn's gaze.

Oh. Damn. Bad, bad idea...

In the space of a few minutes he'd decided to maybe delay telling him that something had happened (obviously he wasn't even sure how he was going to go about that thankless task when the time came since he couldn't exactly say that he was privy to that information himself); maybe _pretend_ to be Liam until he had time and space to think on the problem, investigate possible causes... But that was just stupid: no way could he possibly hope to get away with that unscathed. He simply wasn’t clever enough, or devious enough to pull that one off with any degree of success. If Zayn ever ...did anything...while he was in Liam's body, no, he'd never, ever be forgiven...

But how to be in Liam's body and _not_ have Zayn do things? And how to _avoid_ him doing things without consequently getting Zayn's back up?

And could his life have become any _more_ bizarre?

Taking a deep, deep breath he walked toward the bed...

**

“Is that the phone? Did you hear the phone?” He'd turned his face just in time to avoid the press of mouth on mouth, but there was a kiss (kisses) all the same – on the underside of the neck, collar bone, upper chest.

“No.” A hand slid to his left hip, taking a firm, but gentle grip. “You must be hearing things.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying to wriggle free. “A phone.” He didn't want to actually push the guy away, but how else to get free? “Shouldn't you get it? Might be important.”

The guy lifted his head, brow a little furrowed. Getting the message? God, he hoped so! “What's wrong? Not in the mood?”

This was a bloody weird situation to be in, and, well known fact, he was a terrible, terrible actor. What he wanted was to be given enough time and space to figure out what the hell was going on, but instinctively knew that he couldn't – shouldn't – get this guy's back up, not when he had no idea who he was and what the hell his presence here truly meant.

He had an _idea_ who he might be, but even that didn't ultimately make _sense_ of anything.

He should try to be as conciliatory as possible, not make it seem like this man's touch was like a physical burn – something to be avoided at all costs.

But at the same time he most certainly didn’t want to encourage the guy, do anything that might inadvertently lead _him_ into tricky, tricky waters.

He was already floundering in the deep end, yet there was nothing to say that a little further on the deep end wouldn't turn into a whirlpool, characterised by hidden boulders and irresistible vortices with no way to get out, every stroke bringing him closer and closer to the edge of certain doom.

Therefore, it was definitely better to stay in the deep end, possibly even think about navigating his way toward the shallow end the moment the opportunity arose.

So he didn’t touch this man’s face the way he would have done with Zayn or hug him, kiss him – none of that = he lay stiff as a board and simply shook his head.

The guy looked into his face for a moment and then, of course, leaned down and kissed him.

Like an idiot he had somehow not seen that one coming at all...

**

Zayn didn't move, just watched him walk toward the bed.

Liam would tackle him, pull the covers off him, wrestle with him, kiss him into a good mood.

But though he might be wearing Liam's body, he wasn't Liam, _couldn't_ do the things Liam would naturally do. He was still himself, still acting and thinking like himself, and he knew that there was no way he'd be doing any of that. Even _pretending_ to be Liam was hard, though he had tried to tell him he wasn't pretending to be him.

Hadn't he?

Well, maybe he hadn’t exactly tried to tell him that, but he'd _definitely_ tried to make him know all was not well.

Looking at Zayn's face, at his expression Harry was confident that trying to tell him now would be a huge mistake.

And he was walking toward him, giving him reason to expect, yet no way was he going to fulfil any of those expectations.

So he probably needed to take a detour then.

And why was Liam so easily aroused for fuck's sake!

He'd need to have words with him once they-

He stopped in his tracks as the reality slammed into him for the first time!

If he were Liam then presumably Liam was him and if he _were_ then that meant he was in LA...

Oh god.

Turning away, he hurried over to the door where he'd spotted Liam's jeans, and swiftly rifled through the pockets.

Damn – no bloody phone!

He glanced automatically at Liam's side of the bed and yeah, there it was.

He was conscious of practically sprinting as the phone took on the significance of a hand held out to someone trapped in a burning building.

Snatching it up, he dialled.

Waited. Waited...

Gino wouldn't be asleep. Would he? God, he didn’t even know what time of day it was. If it were morning _here_ then it'd be night time in LA.

What the heck would be going on with him and Liam? If he knew anything about Liam at all it was certain he was going to be in a bad way...

And to be stuck on the other side of the world – with complete strangers...

Not good.

No-one was picking up and he felt himself starting to panic-

“Hi.”

The relief flooding through him was immense. “Jesus Christ, Gino. Where were you?”

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

“It's me. I've been phoning and phoning. Man, something really weird's happened. It's going to sound mad, I'll admit that upfront, but-”

“I think you've got the wrong number. This is 03-”

“I know what the fucking number is! G, listen!”

“Man, I'm sorry. I don't know you, and to be honest I don't have time for this-”

“Is Harry there?” he blurted out, anything to stop him hanging up.

The voice on the other end of the line turned frosty. “I'll make this as clear to you as possible – whatever you've got in mind, forget it. I don't know how you got this number, but believe me, we have security and we will-”

“Just bloody listen!”

This was greeted with a ringing, dead silence in his ear.

Taking the phone from his ear, he stared helplessly at it...

What the hell was he meant to do if Gino wasn't going to even give him a chance to explain what was going on?

Dammit!

He belatedly became aware of Zayn's glare.

And of course he knew Zayn well enough to recognise the significance of that look, well enough indeed to know he was in trouble.

What had he said, though?

“Who the fuck is Gino?” Zayn demanded, each word spat out with a hundred acres of space between it and the next, an Arctic blizzard finding home between the spaces.

And Harry stared helplessly at him, wondering how the heck to even _begin_ to explain without getting himself – Liam – even deeper in the mire..

**

The guy was nice, no other way to describe him, really. After kissing him, he'd had the decency to roll off, let him go to the bathroom – by himself.

And wow what a bathroom!

He was still getting used to this kind of opulence – Americans definitely did that rich thing differently; everything on a bigger scale than anyone else.

Couldn't say he minded, not when it-

He caught sight of himself in the mirrored wall and stopped dead in his tracks, mouth open, eyes wide.

What the fucking hell?

He immediately looked down at his arms, wondering how in god's name he hadn’t noticed the tattoos until now.

But your arms were your arms, weren’t they, and you simply didn't expect them to somehow be someone else’s bloody arms.

Why would you expect them to be someone else's arms?

_Why_ was he Harry?

He'd sort of guessed that this guy had something to do with Harry (they all knew about his guy in LA, though none had had the privilege of meeting him as yet), but hadn’t really had the time to work out what that might have to do with him.

Well, now that fucking questioned had been answered – in spades.

What the fuck?

And what the _fuck_ did Harry get up to in bed? He'd tried hard not to pay undue attention to the ribbon on his cock, because he really hadn’t wanted to dwell on what the hell he must have been doing prior to waking up – in a stranger's bed – but there it was in all its glory, and really he couldn't possibly ignore it.

If it had been _red_ he might have understood it – a little better – but powder blue? What the fuck?

But Harry's sexual peccadilloes aside, the question remained: what the fuck was going on?

And how in god's name was he going to get back to Zayn, back to his own body, back to normal?

Oh. Shit!

He actually _felt_ every single muscle tense.

If he were here in Harry's body, in LA, then Harry must be in his body – back in London. And if they'd swapped places, with him ending up in bed with this guy then that meant that Harry had done the same – and ended up in bed with Zayn.

And nope, that was just not fucking on.

Harry was bound to try to take advantage – if only for a little while – and if he did Liam was going to fucking kill him.

To prevent that happening he had to get to him before he did _anything_ that would ultimately lead to his untimely demise.

 

 

**

 

“Zayn-”

“You know what? Just forget it! I'm gonna have a shower.” Throwing the sheets off, he attempted to get out of bed with dignity, the bed sheets doing their best to make a mockery of such plans, making a point of ignoring him.

“Zayn, listen.” Harry reached out to him, a little tentatively, however, knowing as he did that he couldn't really make things better with an explanation, probably only succeed in making it worse with a lie, so wasn't at all surprised to be peremptorily shrugged off as Zayn headed toward the en-suite.

Harry tried hard not to look at his arse, but couldn't truly berate himself for his weakness: Zayn's arse was choice and was right there before his eyes – how was he not going to look? _Looking_ was all he was doing, all he intended to do, so where, really, was the harm?

It was likely – very likely, given what he knew of their relationship – that Zayn was fully expecting to see him – Liam – open the door of the cubicle and join him, all apologies, all kisses and soft touches. But he couldn't do that.

In fact this might be the time to gather his clothes, his wits, and like a coward sneak away to prevent the likelihood of any further awkwardness between them.

It'd also give him a little time and space to get in touch with Liam, for them to attempt to work out what was going – and find a way to fix it.

He didn't like to dwell too hard on that one since he couldn’t even begin to imagine what the heck was behind it all, and consequently couldn't begin to imagine exactly how they'd solve it.

But the best thing now was to get away from Zayn since there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to keep his hands off him for too much longer.

And he absolutely would not forgive himself if he transgressed against Liam – and Zayn – in any way right now, so yeah, better to get going.

Zayn was probably taking his time, eye on the door, expecting him at any moment.

Yeah, gather Liam's clothes, Liam's phone and keys and leave.

He'd phone later.

Hopefully with something useful to tell him.

 

**

 

The guy looked up and smiled. “What's wrong? Water too cold?”

“What?” He was agitated, miserable and that showed in the tone of his voice, the expression on his face. Also, he was still naked, with that stupid thing hanging off his cock. “No, I just-” How could he attempt an explanation? He'd be hard pressed to explain it to _Zayn_ , and this guy he'd never seen before today, didn't know him (except he seemed like a decent bloke), hell, didn’t even know his name! Sighing, he took a breath, tried to clear his head. It wasn't this guy's fault he was here – well, it wasn't l _ikely_ to be his fault, though at this point it was hard to state _anything_ with certainty – and he needed to stop panicking about Zayn.

Until he knew for _sure_ he had reason to.

“Hey, it's okay; I know you're busting to get back.” His smile was possibly the very best thing about him. Of course he could be a complete dickhead and his smile meant absolutely nothing, but for Liam, his smile seemed to offer a doorway, an insight into who this guy really was – someone really...nice.

And for that reason he made a conscious effort to relax, be nicer to him – not make it quite so obvious he wasn't the guy Liam wanted to be with.

“I do need to go, yeah.” He tried for a smile, trying to picture Harry’s smiles, picture how he'd produce the specific and appropriate smile required in this situation, though if Harry had a specific smile for this situation... “Sorry.”

“Don't worry, I'll just get ready and drive you to the airport after we get something to eat.”

Oh, right, of course. “Thanks, man.”

This got him a sharp, slightly quizzical glance, but no follow up remark, just another smile and a pleasant: “Sure.”

Smiling with relief, he turned back toward the bathroom.

“Hey, why don't we save some time and share?” The guy was on his feet now, walking slowly toward him. All he was wearing was a seductive, teasing smile.

Liam stared at him in horror, not caring that it might show on his face.

Oh. God.

**

He could definitely use a shower, but it was way more important to get out, so he dressed quickly, keeping a careful ear out for the sound of running water. He definitely did not want another confrontation with him today, so he had to leave before Zayn completed his shower and returned to the bedroom, dripping wet, naked...

He was quite surprised to find what appeared to be an empty house – he knew that Danny and Anthony were usually around, usually made their presence known, but neither of them appeared to be up and about as yet. Glancing at Liam's watch he saw that it was just gone 9. Zayn wasn't a naturally early riser and they were on holiday, so he'd expect him to sleep in. Of course had he actually been Liam Zayn would undoubtedly still be in bed right now...

But that wasn't his fault; all he could do was find a way to get Liam back, and get himself back to where he was meant to be.

There was a black Golf parked on the courtyard which he initially assumed must belong to Anthony or Danny. Zayn didn't have a car, and though he was aware that Liam planned to buy one he didn't think he had as yet, so was pretty surprised when he looked at the keys he'd picked up– just to check – and realised that there were car keys as well as house keys on the chain.

And sure enough when he depressed the door lock mechanism the golf called to him. Not giving himself time to think it through he went to the car, opened the door and got in the driver's seat.

His natural instinct was to adjust the seat, the everything, but of course he didn’t need to – if it were Liam's car then it would be already adjusted to his liking, and since he was Liam, yes, everything was perfect.

Now, all that remained was to see if he could drive this, keep it on the road and make his way across London to Liam's apartment without incident.

No real reason why there should be any issue, but then there was no real reason why he should find himself somehow inhabiting his friend's body, so taking nothing for granted at this point...

 

**

 

He _really_ should have expected the kiss. They weren't going to be able to have such a public display of affection at the airport, so of course he'd want to kiss him before they got out the car.

Perhaps he was still in shock from the shower; perhaps he'd been figuratively crossing his fingers since then, putting them in his ear and going lalala at the top of his lungs, Whatever the reason the fact was he had no defence at all against the goodbye kiss.

And he knew how that felt, knew already how well this guy did that.

Had he not been so...nonplussed...he'd undoubtedly have considered Harry a very lucky guy.

He enjoyed it, no question about that, which of course made him feel terrible on several levels – that he was betraying Harry by kissing his guy and allowing his guy to do all that, thinking he was Harry; and that he was betraying Zayn by allowing himself to kiss someone else, putting himself in a position to actually be kissed at length, fondled and stroked.

He had simply failed to come up with any reason at all to keep resisting the guy's advances. Having spent the night having sex with him – well, unless Harry's sex life was rather different from what one would reasonably expect – then how he could all of a sudden be refusing him now, pushing away what were some really gentle and respectful overtures?

But it wasn't _his_ body, though, was it? Zayn couldn't object to _Harry_ being kissed and...other stuff... could he? Not like it was _his_ body doing that stuff, was it?

“I'll miss you. When's your next break?”

Liam stared stupidly at him. What? His next break? Quickly calculating in his head, he said: “July – only a couple of months.”

“Too long, baby.” He kissed him again, hand gently cupping then stroking the back of his head. “Gonna miss you.”

Liam felt terrible: obviously he needed 'Harry' to be as affectionate, as sincere in his desire as he was, and Liam didn't want to betray Harry or the guy by falling short of that mark, but there was simply no way he was going to be able to _pretend_ that way. Yes, he'd enjoyed his attentions, had responded to and enjoyed the kiss, but that was all – no way was he going to be able to convince him his feelings were reciprocated, and that was unfair – to Harry, to the guy, who for god's sake had a name, dammit! What the heck was his name, and how was he going to find it out?

“Me too,” he replied, hoping to god that there'd be no more kissing, no more stroking, just a take-it-as-read acceptance of his reciprocal affection; that in a few seconds he could be out the door and on his way.

His mind was already in the air, already at home with Zayn, he just had to ensure his body joined it in the swiftest most trouble-free way possible.

“Phone me, okay? Don't care what time it is – just call soon as you get home.”

“I promise,” he said, hoping he was successfully masking his discomfort. He knew it wasn't so, but when some guy was looking at you like that, like there was love between you then it wasn't easy to keep in mind exactly what the situation really was.

“Good.” He was staring into Liam's eyes, looking like he wanted to say something, like he _desperately_ wanted to say something and Liam kept looking at him, sure he must be doing a really good impression of a deer caught in the headlights.

And then he smiled, hugged him again, and let him go.

It was all Liam could do to calmly gather Harry’s belongings and with a final wave to the guy, who was quietly watching him, tinted side window rolled all the way down, hurry to the familiar airport, wondering if it were a good thing or a bad that the flight was in the early afternoon, presumably the busiest time of the day for travelling, or maybe since people were so busy sorting out their own affairs they'd have little interest in any 'celebrity' traveller. And, besides, the people here must be so accustomed to seeing celebrities hurrying to catch their flights that they probably barely even noticed the likes of Harry Styles as he travelled abroad in the world.

But of course, since he wasn't actually Harry he'd found a baseball cap under which he'd tucked his hair, light blue jeans belonging to the guy, a black hoodie, which did belong to Harry, but which he never wore, and some black nikes, which again Harry rarely wore, all of which meant that he simply didn’t _look_ like Harry from 1 Direction so no-one was alerted by either the boots, the hair or the fedora.

They were all capable of going incognito when they needed to – Zayn was especially accomplished at it – so even though he had to use the tools at his disposal (and he'd been quite surprised to find Harry actually had some with him) and not come up with a concrete 'disguise' himself it was working out, couldn't complain.

Now, all he had to do was ensure he didn't panic now he found himself without the protection he'd come to expect whilst in this place. To be here sans Paddy and the others was really quite disorienting, but he _had_ to be confident, confident he could handle it without panicking, and remember always that he wasn't him – he was Harry Styles – and to act accordingly.

Or, maybe not, maybe not act like Harry at all.

Maybe not acting like Harry might be the way to go in this instance.

Yeah, that's what he'd do – not be Harry styles at all.

**

He'd never really considered buying a Golf, but to be honest it was a nice ride. He wouldn’t say he was _addicted_ to cars, but since learning to drive he'd definitely surprised within him a slightly profligate and blokey need to be around things that went quick and had an engine...

The Golf wasn't ostentatious or powerful enough to get his motor running, but it was definitely a nice little mover.

Since Liam hadn’t had the car for long he wasn't familiar with his parking habits. He knew there was some type of underground private parking area in his block, but didn't know how to access it, so simply parked on the forecourt, confident the car would be safe as houses there.

Of course invading Liam's space this way wasn't really on, but what else was he meant to do? Had to get this sorted for _both_ their sakes.

The apartment was quiet and still and he knew straight away that Liam had been absent for a while. Hmm, maybe he hadn’t come home at all, but gone straight to Zayn's once they arrived back in London. The company oversaw all the domestic logistics of them being on tour and leaving empty properties in their wake, so came in to clean and empty fridges and dustbins and stock up on food – sometimes – so Liam was perfectly safe to leave his apartment for a little longer while he stayed with Zayn.

And clearly that's what he'd done, where he'd been since the first leg of the tour ended.

Harry knew they didn't live together, that Liam spent most of the time at his own apartment, but he also knew that they spent chunks of time together, like a period of days where Liam would stay over, he just didn't know the pattern. For instance he knew that when he and Louis had been at their most serious they'd spend every second weekend together no matter what (even if they’d been working together that week and had seen each other pretty much every day), but really wasn't sure what motivated Zayn and Liam.

He made straight for the kitchen, though he suspected that if he wanted to eat he really should have stayed at Zayn's, and sure enough the Payne cupboard was well and truly bare.

Sod it.

He'd have to go and eat out somewhere or go to the local shop, and he just didn’t fancy travelling anywhere, mixing it with anyone while he was in this state. God, what if Liam had fallen out with some neighbours and he went and made things worse by... well who knew, but still...

Why couldn't Liam have stopped off here first and stocked up before going over to Zayn whose cupboard was always brimming with-

Oh hold on, how stupid was he?

He knew someone who would definitely have a full cupboard!

Should have gone there first to be honest.

But first, how about a shower and a change of clothes?

Hopefully the hunger wouldn’t cause him to faint, hit his head and subsequently drown in the shower, because that would be something Liam would never live down...

And oh yeah, Zayn would fucking kill him.

Hmm, if anything happened to Liam's body would that mean he'd automatically be returned to his own body and Liam to his?

Well, he definitely had no intention of finding out, for all that that might be the one sure way of rectifying whatever this was.

No, he was going to be as careful with this body as if it were the most precious thing in the entire world, since, for some, it really was the most precious thing in the world

 

**

 

He'd slept well, but a hundred hour flight was still what it was – a hundred hour flight – and he emerged into the warm London morning blinking, yawning, creaking, stiff and a little disoriented. Harry's bodyguard was waiting for him and Liam was reminded quite forcefully of the fact that things were definitely not as they ought to be.

“Hey,” he said, trying to look as Harry-like as possible.

“Hey.” He was looking a little the worse for wear and Liam was tempted to ask him if he'd been up all night, but wasn't really in the mood – to do an impression of Harry - figuring that the best thing to do would be to stay quiet, get home, marshal his resources enough to tackle this, solve it and then get back to normal as soon as possible.

In the car he sat back, took a deep breath, watching as they slowly and carefully turned into the mid morning traffic.

“Oh, could you take us to Zayn's house instead? I'll be there for a bit. Okay?”

“No problem.”

“Ta.”

It was stupid the way his heartbeat had started to accelerate just at the thought that in less than half an hour he'd be seeing him again.

He'd seen him a few hours ago – well, more like 24 – but somehow it didn't feel that way; it felt like days, weeks, actually – no, _months_...

He absolutely could not bloody wait to see him, touch him, kiss him...

 

**

 

Of course he didn't have a key; why would Harry have a key to Zayn's house? Which was all well and good, but now he had to get in by…knocking.

Danny opened the door and Liam smiled in pleasure when he saw him.

Danny smiled back, but it wasn't the smile he'd usually get and again was reminded that he wasn't who he thought he was or rather no-one who saw him knew he wasn't who he appeared to be. “Right, bro?” He moved aside to let him in. “He's in the front lounge.”

“What, he's out of bed?” He wasn't really joking, but Danny chuckled as if he were.

“Playing games.”

“Ah,” he said as if that explained all, which of course it did. Many a time he'd had to take a back seat to a video game. “Any eats going?”

“Sure. What you fancy?”

“Food.”

Danny laughed again. “I'll see what I can do.”

Liam watched him head toward the kitchen, and then, heart thumping, made his way to the lounge.

“Knock knock,” he said, coming in.

Zayn glanced his way then back again, fingers dancing over the pad. “Right, mate? Take a seat.”

“Don't mind if I do.” He could hardly catch breath, staring at him, looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time. He was wearing light blue jeans, faded at the knee and the seat, Liam's light blue t-shirt, slightly worn at the collar, nothing on his feet. Cross-legged in the centre of the leather sofa, he looked good enough to eat.

Liam stood behind him, taking him in – the scent of him, the look of him. “God, your hair – how does it do that?” He let his fingers have their way, allowed them to find their way into his hair, the strands warm and familiar against his skin.

He was surprised when Zayn twisted away. “Man, come on, I'm trying to play a game, piss off.”

“But is it longer? It seems longer.” And he wasn't even joking – Zayn's hair was definitely longer.”

“Don’t be stupid. Oh fuck! No! Come on!”

Liam watched him fondly: so damn competitive.

He touched his hair again, figuring that was relatively safe and wouldn't get in the way of the working of either Zayn's hands or brain.

And once gain, Zayn shrugged him off. “Harry, man, go and make yourself a drink or something. You're pissing me off.”

“Nah, I’m fine here.”

“If I lose this I'll kill you.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He was talking, lips moving, ears working but really he was only half there, the need to hold him threatening to take him over. “You planning to do that all day?”

“Not all day, no.”

Uh-uh – mood. He really should leave him be, it was just that he couldn't. “Wouldn't mind us having a bit of a talk.”

“Fine. In a bit.”

“After the tenth or would that be the hundredth game?”

“Harry,” he said and there was warning – irritation - in his voice.

“Okay, okay, I'll let you get on with it.” But he didn't move, kept his eyes on him; on the breadth of his shoulders, the perfection of his neck... “How long you planning on playing?”

Zayn didn't actually sigh, but Liam could tell by the set of his shoulders and the stillness of his head that there was a sigh there nevertheless. “I'll finish this and then take a break.”

Since Liam knew Zayn that well he was aware that there was an implied 'so fuck off and leave me alone' in there, and knowing better than to push his luck gave him a comradely pat on the shoulder before retreating to the kitchen to see if he could persuade Danny to treat him to a full lunch.

 

**

 

“I wasn't expecting you back yet to be honest, thought you were gonna be there until the middle of next week.” Zayn was clean shaven, and his hair was free of styling products. All in light blue he looked young and fresh and so beautiful it hurt Liam's chest to look at him.

They were in the kitchen eating the light lunch Zayn and Danny had prepared. Danny had started it and Zayn once he'd completed the game had, as promised joined him, given him his undivided attention, cooked and dished up the meal.

It was so weird: he was looking at him, thinking about him as Liam while Zayn was looking at him, thinking he was Harry, reacting to him, speaking to him as though he were Harry.

And he couldn't for the life of him think as Harry, answer as if he were Harry. Why would he want to deceive him by pretending he was Harry? He _had_ to let him know what had gone on, try to persuade him that he was Liam.

Despite all the obvious projected difficulties inherent in that, he was ultra confident that he'd have no problem doing so, and was simply looking for the first available opportunity to present itself.

So far Zayn had been doing most of the talking, wondering about his time in LA, whether it had been productive.

Well, this had caused a fair amount of guilt since he couldn’t help recalling exactly how he'd spent his time since waking up there and finding that he wasn't where he expected to be nor who he expected to be.

He honestly couldn't have prevented what happened, but he knew Zayn wouldn't see it quite that way.

And he'd likely tell him – once Zayn was thoroughly conversant with all the facts, had a true understanding of his dilemma. Not before though, not yet.

The guilt would simply have to suck it.

What was hard to do was pretend to be able to talk at length and with authority about whatever the fuck Harry was doing in LA. Harry had his own life in LA and he wasn't sure any of them truly knew the ins and outs of it. Hmm, maybe Niall knew more than the rest of them, but he hadn't, unfortunately schooled Liam on the facts and figures against the day when he'd be trapped in Harry's body and have to pretend to be him.

Couldn’t even answer this one with any great authority. Didn’t know what he was doing in LA so didn’t know why he'd decided to come home early.

All he knew was that he was extremely thankful that he had. The very _idea_ of being away from Zayn for that long – on the other side of the world... Even after all these years he still couldn't take it, couldn’t bear to be separated that way, for that length of time.

So he shrugged and said: “Plans change. You know how that goes, Zayn.”

Zayn smiled and nodded.

He was so beautiful. It was amazing. Was it because Zayn wasn't aware it was him that he was showing a different side?

Or was it just that he was completely besotted?

He had no idea how he was keeping his hands off him, no idea how Zayn wasn't able to feel him, sense him, know him. “You got plans?”

“For today?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn's smile was one of his favourite Zayn smiles – wholly to himself, very smug: a thought which pleased him, but which he wasn't intending to share.

“Oh yeah? Care to let on?”

He laughed again, looking extremely happy. “One guess, man. Come on.”

Liam shrugged, none the wiser. “No idea.”

“Funny,” he said, not losing the smile - or the glow. “Want a clue?” Said with biting irony.

“Go on.”

And he held up his hand – left hand - and pointed to the thin gold band on his finger, not saying a word, just smiling.

The shock was profound, disorienting.

He was aware of standing there, staring at him - at his hand, at the ring - the raw sensation of being punched in the stomach near overwhelming.

“And here he comes now,” Since Liam's attention had been wholly fixed on Zayn's face it was easy to see when his expression changed, how it went from smiling and joyful to soft and almost shy; the way his eyes changed as they lighted on the person who'd just entered the room.

Head snapping round, he literally felt his mouth drop open when he saw who it was.

 

**

 

He probably shouldn't be blithely driving Liam's car, but he _was_ Liam – sort of – and if _he_ wasn't going to, then who the hell was? Wouldn't it look more suss if he _wasn't_ driving the damn thing? So, yeah, no guilt, just drive the damn thing!

And no way was he going shanks pony all the way across the city! Yes, he could take a taxi, but why when he had the car?

If he crashed it, though...

But no, he'd never had a major crash as yet and the Golf was a dream to drive.

A dream to drive, but the traffic was a nightmare, and besides, he was distracted, mind still bent on solving the mystery as well as devising ways and means to not let on he wasn't Liam till such time as he could properly...explain...and maybe even offer possible solutions.

Funny, because had anyone asked him to share a fantasy he'd probably have honestly said something like this. Probably wouldn’t have chosen _Liam_ , though, or any of the others, come to think of it. No, actually, probably not anyone he knew, but to live as someone else for a day or so – maybe a week? Sod it, a year, at least – was actually a very attractive proposition.

Thing that made this _less_ attractive was the lack of input from either himself _or_ Liam. No way had Liam been the one asking for this! Far as Harry could tell Liam was exactly where he wanted to be. No disrespect to him at all, but if _he_ could have been where Liam was in so far as Zayn was concerned he wouldn't have wanted to swap places with anyone else even for a second! Even experiencing Zayn's desire occluded by annoyance as it had been still made his blood crackle and pop. Imagining it completely undiluted was a sure way to end up crashing the car!

And oh great, Liam's body was doing that thing again.

Honestly, how the fuck did the guy go two seconds in that state.

Actually, his admiration for Liam had just gone up several notches: each second must be a constant fight to prevent himself reacting to Zayn...

But, no, neither of them had asked for this, which is the thing that made this not fun.

When you swapped places with another person, well the lack of control went without saying and was actually part of the draw – in a way. But the point was to actually be in a position to know what was going on – to be prepared for it.

He hadn’t been prepared – understatement – and as for Liam, god only knew what the hell was going on with him.

And Gino...

How was he coping with Gino?

He had no fear that Liam would acquiesce to Gino's blandishments. Gino was a seductive guy, but Liam was Liam – the most difficult guy to seduce on the flipping planet!

Well, maybe _Zayn_ might run him a close second.

Zayn couldn’t be seduced: he either wanted to or not – couldn't persuade him with your 'charms'. He stubbornly remained unmoved, despite all evidence to the contrary.

And though knowing this definitely created a pang of jealousy (oh for all kinds of reasons) there was no two ways about it – Liam was the only person he'd ever seen Zayn fall for; the only person who had the key to unlock him; the only person who could actually get under his skin – flip his switch. With everyone else Zayn remained cool as a cucumber – taking what was offered, but quite able (though he was polite enough to not make that as clear as it actually was) to remain unmoved, definitely all about taking it or leaving it, with one option being of no more interest to him than the other.

Liam only had to breathe and Zayn would be planning their next bedroom encounter.

They had a running joke about this, which he knew Zayn didn’t find especially amusing, but the truth was he was so Liam focused that it really was like that – each moment a clear opportunity to plan ways to get him in a sexually compromising position.

And he didn't give a fuck who saw it or knew it or worked it out.

Liam was his and he was proud as hell about that.

It had taken Harry a while to understand Zayn's position, but once he began to see Liam differently he certainly began to see it for himself.

Of course you had to be very careful to keep that strictly to yourself.

Zayn was fairly generous with most of his possessions, yeah, a really nice, generous, fair-minded guy.

Except when it came to Liam.

Actually it might have been really interesting to swap places with Zayn...

The thought of this , the possibilities, the comedy of errors he could foresee tickled him so much he didn't even notice he'd been stuck behind a dustcart for the best part of 10 minutes...

 

**

“Oh hi, mate. Thought you were still in LA.”

He held himself stiffly as Liam, or more accurately some guy wearing his face, gave him a one armed embrace, the cellophane wrapping of the bouquet he was holding cool for a moment against the side of his face.

The guy smelled familiar – Aramis, Zayn's favourite cologne on him – and was wearing a red shirt he'd never been before – a dressy, expensive designer shirt that had the first 3 and last 2 buttons undone, practically falling off him, upper chest and an inch or two of belly exposed.

It wasn't _that_ bloody hot! And besides, why not wear a damn t-shirt if you were that bloody hot!

His hair was different too – long, stupidly long, the fringe falling over his right eye. And had he fucking _highlighted_ it?

Now, the jeans he did recognize, and as he clocked them found himself seething.

Zayn _loved_ those jeans on him...

So the guy was wearing all the things Zayn loved – the cologne, the red shirt, the light blue denims - even wearing his hair the way he knew Zayn liked... and the roses -- peach coloured -- something he knew Zayn would love.

“I think he was missing us, babe.”

Liam turned to look at Zayn, but Zayn wasn't looking at him, wasn't even giving the _appearance_ of actually being aware he was even in the room, and the look in his eye as he looked at this man, made him want to die.

His heart quite simply felt like curling around itself and _wailing_.

Zayn couldn't look at someone else that way and him survive it.

How was he to survive this?

“Well, we missed you too, mate. Didn't we, Zayn?”

“Hmm.” Still not looking at him, the smile on his face and the look in his eye very, very familiar.

Had to look away lest his face reveal the agony he was feeling inside.

This was a pain he had never, ever expected to ever be subject to, and to think that Zayn would do it to him, just like that, and with no consideration whatsoever for his feelings...

“So, you er staying for a bit?”

Since he wasn't that good at dissembling he fucking knew that this meant 'could you in the most loving way possible kindly fuck off and leave me and Zayn alone now?' and to hell if he was going to let that happen.

Over his dead fucking body!

If this guy touched Zayn, came anywhere near him he was going to tear his fucking head off!

Some of this must have shown in the expression he turned on the faux Liam, because he flinched a little before fake smiling and saying: “Hope they fed you. You feed him, babe?”

“Course.” Zayn's stare was intense and so focused he wasn't even aware that the stare _he'd_ turned on him was just as intense. All he could see was the guy – the fake Liam, the fake Liam who was so pathetic he was doing all the things he knew pleased Zayn, just to keep his attention.

He'd never had to do that – grow his hair, wear specific clothes – buy him flowers and oh look, he'd almost certainly bought him a piece of jewellery, too, if that carrier bag he was holding was any clue.

Pathetic!

If Zayn fell for any of that bollocks...

“You got something for me, babe?” The suggestiveness in Zayn's tone would have rocked him back on his heels had it been directed at him, and yeah it did rock him back on his heels alright, but for very different reasons.

His glare, like his presence ever since fake Liam had walked in, went unnoticed.

“I do, as it happens, and er where's my hug? I'm guessing you didn't miss me.” His pout made Liam clench his fists and look hard at the floor lest he accidentally let the brakes off and launch himself at the wanker...

“To be fair, bro, I hardly noticed you were gone.”

“Right. I'll be off then.”

See ya. It was all he could do to not say this out loud, to not find a way to diplomatically let him know that his presence was wholly unwelcome. Instead he silently watched the pathetic pantomime, unable to stop himself reaching out to Zayn as he tore past him to 'prevent' the other Liam leaving.

Zayn shrugged off his touch like it wasn't there and hurled himself at the guy, leaping on his back, arms clasped tight around his neck, laughing like a kid as the fake tried to hold him there with hands full of flowers and present.

“God, Zayn, what you been eating! I swear you've put on about 10 stone since last month!”

“Funny. Don't crush 'em! They’re my favourites! Liam, careful!”

“I'm being careful. You be less heavy, man. Whoa. Watch it! Here we go.”

And before he knew it they'd left the kitchen.

He stood looking at where they'd been a minute ago, stood listening to the sound of merriment and fake whining fading away as they moved toward the stairs.

Sneaky fucking piece of shit!

And rude, too.

He'd _never_ have been so rude.

He was a guest for fuck's sake! How had he been left in the kitchen to fend for himself like this!

No, this guy, this guy was starting to get on his fucking nerves in a _massive_ way.

And if he thought Liam was going to sit there like a dummy while he did what he wanted with Zayn, well he was in for a major bloody shock.

 

**

 

Maybe at some point he'd get used to it, but today was clearly not that day.

He'd gone to Niall's thinking like Harry, believing, therefore, that Niall would see Harry when he opened the door – and of course he didn't, he heard and saw Liam.

“Alright, Payno. Nice to see you. Come in, man.”

Harry had been expecting a hug, a kiss, and had to adjust swiftly when Niall's reaction reminded him who exactly he was meant to be. “Thanks, man.” Was he sounding more like Liam, borrowing from his speech patterns? It would take something extraordinary, like swallowing a thesaurus or a dictionary or just deciding to be really fucking pretentious not to do a good enough impression of Liam though, so he really should let that shit go.

His problem, of course, was always over thinking things, trying to be perfect, so much so that he often ended up being too paralysed to actually take action, either that or talked himself into a stupid, ill- _considered_ action. Either way this was something he felt hampered him in far too many ways and thus something he was resolved to be working on each and every day.

Still a work in progress, of course, a definite work in progress.

“You drive?”

“Yeah. Got stuck in traffic, though.” He led the way toward the lounge, but Niall caught him by the arm and diverted him in the direction of the kitchen. “Oh great. You're cooking!”

“I know you're on a diet...”

“No, I'm not,” he protested quickly, seeing the cupboard emptying before his mind's paranoid eyes.

“Still, I don't want to fill you up with junk.”

“One meal won't hurt,” he pleaded, silently praying to Liam for forgiveness.

“Okay. What do you fancy?”

“What you got?”

They spent very little time in front of the fridge and the cupboard. Niall wasn't fussy about his food and since he was fucking starving, on this occasion decided he wasn't fussy either!

“I'm not usually a massive fan of strawberries,” he said, biting into one. “But these are nice.”

Niall, peeling an orange, frowned a little. “Thought they were your favourite fruit.”

“Wha-? Yeah, yeah, but sometimes they don't taste the way they should, do they? A bit sour and a bit bland at times. When they're good they're very good, though.” God, that was close! He really needed to keep his wits about him; had to recall every single thing he knew about Liam so as to not potentially run into trouble. This was nothing; Niall wasn't even looking at him like he thought Harry was bullshitting, but there were bound to be other moments where he'd likely trip himself up.

“So how's Zayn?”

“Fine.”

“You sorted it out then.”

“Yeah, sure. No biggie; you know what we're like.”

Niall gave a little chuckle, which in Niall speke meant – what the fuck are you on about? “He on the way to Brad, then?”

“Er, no, still at home.”

“You're not with him, though.” And he said no more, obviously believing this was enough.

God, had Zayn and Liam been fighting? Was that what he'd landed in the middle of? “I'll be going back in a minute – just needed to get some stuff from mine.”

And this seemed to satisfy him. “Glad you're working it out though, man. Tommo's in the wrong and he knows it. He should never have done what he done.”

“Yeah.” What the fuck? What?

Niall was still casually eating his orange, seemingly unaware and uncaring that he'd set Harry’s mind racing like a hamster trying to somehow find its way to the end of the wheel.

How to get more information out of him without looking a right idiot, though?

“Louis can be a right pain, though,” he offered, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

Niall's raised eyebrow spoke volumes. “Well you're a better man than me, Payno. Not sure I'd still be talking to him, to be honest. You're brave.”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” What the fuck had Louis done?

“Look, Payno, don't need me to be telling you your business but shouldn't you be spending as much time with Zayn as possible right now?”

Harry masked his dismayed confusion by taking another strawberry, examining it minutely before biting into its juicy flesh.

His instincts had told him to get away from Zayn so as not to get himself into the mire, but apparently that had been the wrong thing to do.

What the fuck?

Was he going to end up causing issues in his friends' relationship?

And what the fuck did _Louis_ have to do with it?

Well, he had kinda used Niall for the contents of his fridge and cupboard, but no matter, he had no choice but to hit and run; had to find a way to sort out a situation he'd more than likely inadvertently made just a little worse.

“You're right; I do need to get back to Zayn. You mind?”

“No. man. Come here.” And he gave Harry a heartfelt hug which damn felt quite different in Liam's body, plus Niall didn't hug Liam the way he hugged him – which was just as well, actually, or he'd have something to say about it!

But it was so hard to hug him as Liam when he wanted to hug him, respond to him as Harry, as himself.

So weird going away without a kiss.

Fuck Liam for being so bloody fucking monogamous!

And since there was no way he could even _consider_ sleeping with Zayn, turns out that Liam was the most unfun body he could have chosen! (not that he'd had any say in it!)

Now, _Louis_ would have been a fun body to inhabit.

Oh and speaking of whom...

Time to discover what the fuck he'd been up to.

It had been what, 5 days since the tour ended?

What the hell had he done to end up with even Niall against him?

Oh and that was going to be...interesting...seeing him without Louis knowing he was being seen.

Shouldn't really do it, but the fact was that even if he told Louis the truth he wouldn’t believe him, so what else was he to do?

But he just absolutely had to know what he'd done to Zayn, or Liam, or whomever and whatever to have caused such apparently huge problems between them.

What the _fuck_ , Louis?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
